By morning, the mansion was alive with movement. Decorators, planners, and caterers swarmed the halls, arranging flowers and centerpieces. As the hours passed, dread settled in my stomach. The layout, the colors, the music—it was all painfully familiar.
By noon, there was no denying it. The setup mirrored Francesca’s extravagant birthday from two months earlier.
And then she arrived.
She moved like she owned the place, dressed in red silk that clung perfectly, her sweet, artificial scent filling the room.
“I hope you like everything,” she said brightly. “I handled all the details myself. Thought it suited your… preferences.”
I didn’t answer right away. My gaze dropped to the crescent-moon necklace glittering at her throat. Mine. The one Lorenzo had given me years ago, right before it vanished.
“A secondhand celebration for a secondhand woman,” I said coldly. “Fitting.”
Her smile cracked. Fury flashed across her face as she grabbed a crystal ornament and slammed it to the floor. Glass exploded outward, a shard slicing into her foot. She screamed, clutching her ankle as if mortally wounded.
Lorenzo rushed in seconds later, eyes sweeping the chaos.
“What happened?”